


Let Him Cry

by Achrya



Series: The Adventures of Spooky and Deadboy [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Crying, Drug Use, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya
Summary: “Ben is crying again.”“Yeah well. Dad says it's just growing pains.”--Klaus decides to help his brother out.





	Let Him Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I’m just gonna write the one thing. That’s it. Honest.
> 
> My brain: Yeah okay.
> 
> Mmm. I figure they’re about 16-17 here, so I slapped the underage tag on it. Writing Klaus was a little...mmm, difficult? I’ve smoked my share of weed, but I limited further drug use...for the most part, so I could only go with what I know here.  

 

“Ben is crying again.” Vanya says, so soft Klaus can barely hear her. She’s always like that, hard to hear like she’s afraid of her own voice, afraid to speak, and if he weren’t sitting with his back against the door listening he would have missed it. His head drops against the door with a muffled thud; the shadows gathered outside don’t notice.

They never do, anymore.    

“Yeah well.” He hears Luther outside his door, booming voice uncomfortable and unsure. Klaus imagines he’s hunched in on himself, standing next to Allison  because he was always next to Allison , arms crossed over his chest like he does when he doesn’t know what to do, either with himself or the world. Klaus can relate to that feeling, except instead of shuffling his feet and barking orders until everyone fell into place he had other ways of making the world how he wanted. “Dad says it's just growing pains.”

Klaus blows out the smoke he’s holding in his body, missing the acrid taste and velvet feel on his tongue and the swallowed glass burn in his lungs, as soon as it’s gone. He licks his lips, tastes the powdery bitterness of the pills he snorted, and blinks watery eyes. His heart was no longer beating so fast it hurt and made it hard to breathe, and his skin no longer itched so badly he wanted to tear it free.

He was going to need to wear long sleeves tomorrow though, to hide the gouges he’d made right after the high had hit, harder and stronger than he’d expected.

That’s what he gets for letting a ghost convince him to crush up the mystery medicine instead of swallowing it like he usually did. Ghosts were great big petty dicks. Giants bags of big veiny ugly dicks, and the more he ignored them the worse they were when he sobered enough to hear them.

“Growing pains.” Vanya repeats the words so slowly. Klaus wonders if she’s trying to feel them out, or maybe taste them. There’s a scornful upturn at the end; the words must not taste very good.

Luther’s shadow, longer and broader than the others, shifts then moves a little to the side, breaking up the grouping to let more light stream under Klaus’ door. He reaches for it, lets his fingers run through the yellow puddle in circles, just skirting the trembling shadows at the edges.

“Yes. I get them too! ...I used to, anyway. And Ben has before too, you know that. Klaus too, and...” A pause; floorboards creak. Luther’s shadow slips further away.

Klaus smiles at the stretching pool of light and breathes in another lungful of smoke. The end of the joint flares red briefly and smoke rolls over his tongue, down his throat and fills him with stinging heat. He holds it, eyes slipping shut. Growing pains. That’s what his father had called Klaus’ nightmares and the random increases of power that would bring more voices, more disfigured spectors howling his name and reaching for him with their frozen breath hands. Anytime he got stronger, and suffered for it, his father would cluck his tongue, scowling down at him, and declare it just ‘Growing Pains’.

And usually suggest a trip to the morgue or the cemetery or murder scenes to deal with it, but that was before Klaus had learned how to quiet the voices and turns the ghosts into nothing more than shadows at the edge of his vision. No more growing pains after that; take that dad.

He giggles softly as he finally exhales.

Diego would be good at this, he thinks and takes another drag. Not that he ever would. Diego was a good boy, just as much as Luther was, just as much as poor Ben with his latest round of Growing Pains.

“You wouldn’t understand Vanya. Just leave it alone, that’s what dad says to do.” Luther says. “Ben will be fine.”

“I-”

“Vanya,” Allison  says gently, sweetly. “Come sleep in my room tonight, okay? I got some fanmail with fun stuff in it, we can make it a girl’s night, and I bet mom will make some snacks if we ask. We can check on Ben in the morning, at breakfast.”

Vanya lets out a little birdlike chirp, mumbles something and then they’re all going away, taking their shadows with them and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He tires of himself in what feels like record time and rolls to his feet. He’s clumsy, his head so heavy on his shoulders he thinks it might roll back and off, thump onto the floor and then he’d be dead and wouldn’t that be something? He’d had a headless ghost following him around for a while, neck a big gorey gaping maw that he could look right down into when he was of a mind to do so, all ragged skin, jutting crushed bone, and red oozing torn flesh.It’s head had been a squashed, oddly flat on top mess with brains frozen forever in a half spilled out state.

Would his neck look like that if it came off? How about his head? He didn’t have the facial features to pull of a squashed head, did he?

It would be days before anyone thought to look for him, probably.

Or maybe it would be first time in the morning, when they weren’t allowed to eat until he showed up at the table. Diego and Luther would come barreling upstairs, furious at him for daring to delay him, and then they’d trip over his headless body and...and sigh in irritation because it would be forever before they got to eat now.

Stupid Klaus and his stupid head falling off, fucking Klaus ruins everything again and now we have to clean up his mess, _again_. Now we have to have a portrait painted without him in it, put his picture up next to Five, why did Klaus have to make everything so much more annoying than it had to be? Why couldn’t he just keep his head.

Ah well, it would be a nice final fuck you, wouldn’t it?

He giggles again, eyes sweeping his room before he turns and throws open the door to stumble out. There’s one lone light on in the hallway now, the dim one at the top of the stairs to keep them from breaking their necks in the middle of the night; the brighter one that had let his sibling’s shadows keep him company like his siblings don’t anymore is out. He shivers, glances back at his room, and shakes his head. He doesn’t like walking around in the dark but it will be fine. He’s not locked in, not stuck or trapped. This darkness is fine.

It’s different from his room.

He doesn’t want to be in there anymore, it feels too dark, too tight, and even though he can’t see them he knows it must be full of dickhead ghosts. They love his room, the jerks. They make it impossible to sleep unless he’s passing out because just the knowledge that they’re there, watching him with their dead fish eyes, makes his chest hurt.

But it’s okay. The Umbrella Academy was nothing if not huge and full of places to duck into to sleep for the night. On the downside sometimes he did that and got lectured for staying out all night because no one could be bothered to look for him if he wasn’t in his room. No one ever talked about where he went, what he must be doing out there at night even though they had to know, but they didn’t stop Father from tearing him a new one about being irresponsible and an endless source of trouble who would never live up to his potential at this rate and did he even know how disappointed everyone was in him?

Did he care?

Klaus makes it as far as Ben’s room, a hand on the wall to keep him up against the tilting of the world. He was thinking about breaking into the stash of alcohol his father kept, real nice stuff that burned smoothly on the way down and went right to his head in the best way, and maybe crashing in the courtyard when he hears it. A groan of pain and a shaking sob, muffled to near nothingness. He places his hand on the door and leans closer to press his ear against the cool wood.

A creak of old bed springs, a rustling and then a sharp hissed inhale and whimper. Another creak, a choked off whimper, and a muffled wail, a little louder before it cuts off, brought back into control by force. “Ah,” Ben’s voice, thin and high in the way Klaus only hears when he’s injured (is it bad, a part of his brain that he doesn’t feel like dealing with, muses that he knows what his brother, all of his siblings really, sounds like when he’s been hurt?), then quiet broken crying. Sniffling inhales, panted out exhales, stuttering sobs.

Klaus looks up the hallway then down it. It’s empty, all the doors except his own shut tight for the night. No one would be coming to check on Ben and his Growing Pains. It wasn’t fair. Ben was nice, nicer than all of them, always asked if they were okay when they weren’t, snuck them extra cookies and dessert when their father wasn’t looking, hovering outside of shut doors, talking softly to call him back when Klaus was pulling his hair out or shaking his way through another bad come down.

The others didn’t do that for him, or each other, Luther and Allison  aside. Those two were always eager to comfort each other; Klaus had been unlucky enough to walk in on it a few times.

Some things just couldn’t be unseen with any amount of scotch and his gross siblings with their tongues in each other’s mouths and hands in pants or under skirts, or that one unfortunate Pantless Straddling Incident where he saw more of Luther than he had since they were kids and shared the bathtub and more of Allison  than he’d ever wanted to see, were some of those things.

Blech. So gross.

He turns the knob and pushes open the door. Ben goes silent with a sucked in breath and Klaus can see him, in the cone of faint light opening the door oftered, hurriedly rolling over to face the wall while throwing an arm over his face. He’s curled up, smaller than he should be, in the far corner of the bed. The sheets and blankets are in a heap towards the foot of the bed, wrinkled and crumpled up together, leaving the mattress bare. One of the pillows is on the ground, torn open in long jagged tears that let feathers spill out in the same way some of the ghosts Klaus has seen are losing their innards.

The other pillow is in Ben’s grasp, clutched to his chest and curled around by his brother’s statue still form. Klaus blinks at his brother’s back then, shrugging, slinks inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

He heard Ben move as he makes his way closer, glad his brother is such a neat freak, keeping his room exactly the way they’re supposed to. Ben’s a good boy like that, never steps out of line or defies their father or Luther. While Diego starts fights and Allison  eyes the outside world with a hunger they can all see and Klaus does...what he does, and Vanya shrinks more and more everyday, Ben keeps doing what he’s supposed to do. Trains without question, goes on missions without complaint, never says the wrong thing during interviews.

Klaus still isn’t allowed to answer unrehearsed questions after accidently coming out to the entire world when they were thirteen, stating without thinking that he didn’t like girls. Not that the monocle had cared that he was gay, that man didn’t care about anything except making sure they remained his perfect little matched soldier set, but he hadn’t liked how it distracted from The Big Picture while the media went wild. Now Klaus couldn’t be trusted.

But not Ben! Ben could be trusted, because Ben was Such a Good Boy.

It pisses him off. He’s rougher than he needs to be when he flops onto his brother’s bed, bouncing the mattress. He fishes out his lighter, rolling this way and that as he wiggling it out of his tight pants, then sits back against the headboard to light up again, anger only growing when Ben doesn’t react to him at all. Where did Ben get off not being as fucked up as Klaus anyway? He was housing a literal tentacle monster inside of his chest, an actual murderous demon thing that was only allowed out when they were out to decimate the enemy and leave no one in one piece, let alone breathing, but here he was, suffering as quietly as he could because-

“What the fuck Klaus!?” Ben snarls, half sitting up and whirling around to glare at him. Klaus freezes, mid-pull on the joint, eyes going wide; there isn’t much light to see by but his eyes are adjusting and Ben is close and-

He looks like shit. Washed out, eyes blown wide, whites bloodshot and watery, nose red and running, lips puffy and cracked, split in places where he must have bitten them raw, cheeks stained with tear tracks, and hair greasy and limp with sweat. His lips were drawn back in a grimace that showed off his teeth.

Klaus’ tongue and throat are burning. He coughs, smoke escaping into Ben’s face; his brother coughs with him, rearing back to push himself further into the corner. He pulls his knees up to his chest and drops his face onto his knees, arms coming up to wrap around himself and, oh, hello, that was a familiar position. Klaus’ heart does something funny in his chest. He didn’t like it.

“Ben-”

“Get out Klaus.” Ben’s voice is rough, gravel and broken glass grinding together in his throat then spat out at Klaus. “You know I don’t want you smoking in here.”

“Um.” He says, something that feels like shame, but can’t be shame because Klaus has no measurable sense of shame anymore thank you very much, burns in his chest worse than smoke or booze ever do. “...you want? It might help.”

Ben scoffs in half-hearted disgust. “No. Just. Leave me alone.”

Klaus swallows, eyes falling to the joint in his hand. “Luther says its Growing Pains. ...you get those worse than the rest of us.”

Ben’s quiet. Klaus licks his lips again, wonders if he looks as bad as Ben does now when the ghosts come for him, decides he must look worse because Ben is hot and he is...Klaus. He’s Klaus, skinny and pale and twitchy, with permanent bags under his eyes and a smile for all the worse moments.

Another drag, hold until his eyes water just because he can, out, back in. Ben shifts, head lifting up just enough for him to look at Klaus through the curtain of his hair. “What are you doing in here?”

Klaus blinks once, twice, shrugs. “Wanted to help.”

Ben’s eyes slide to the side. “By getting me high? No thanks.”

Klaus does admit that he actually hadn’t even thought that far ahead, hadn’t had any sort of plan at all aside from busting in. But now he’s gotta think of something, right? And he’s got nothing if Ben isn’t interested in smoking with him or the pills he may or may not have hidden around his room. (He doesn’t know why he bothers hiding them, it’s not like anyone comes looking.) He doesn’t know how to comfort someone else, he can’t even comfort himself unless it’s to become numb. He isn’t like Mom, who always knows the right thing to say or do at the right time, and he’s not like Allison and Luther or-

Oh! Idea.

He pinches off what’s left of the smoke, sets it onto the bedside table carefully (waste not want not) then turns over onto his knees and scooches closer to his brother. Ben is still watching him, expression pinched and suspicious (rude); Klaus smiles brightly.

Then grabs Ben by the legs and yanks as hard he can. His brother fails, careens backwards and just misses hitting his head off the wall by virtue of sliding across the bed and getting his hands behind him. Klaus takes half a beat to make sure he isn’t hurt, just struck silent in surprise, and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Ben’s pajama shorts to pull them down. Ben yelps and a hand shoots out to grab his wrist, stopping him.

“What-”

“I’m helping.” Klaus says, other hand still tugging at Ben’s shorts. “Jerking off always makes me feel better-”

“I don’t need your help to jerk off!” Ben is whisper shouting now and abandones holding his wrist for trying to get hold of his shorts, but Klaus had a head start and positioning on his side. Ben is still awkward crumpled in the corner, shoulders against the wall and head bent forward with one hand on the mattress to keep himself from sliding down further, which is not a very good defensive position.  

Father wouldn’t be pleased with this showing.

The shorts come down enough for Ben’s cock to come free; Klaus lifts his knee and places it on the bunched up fabric, making sure it can’t be pulled back up, and puts a hand on his brother. Ben drags in a breath then full body winces and arches; tentacles peek through his shirt, pushing through the fabric but somehow not doing any harm to it. It’s just the tips, squirming and at the ready. Klaus tips his head to the side.

“You gonna rip me apart?” It’s not a wholly unappealing idea for some strange reason; a thrum of heat and want ripples through Klaus.

Ben shakes his head franticly and the tentacles are gone like they weren’t there at all, leaving no sign they’d ever been there all. Klaus nods, satisfied and disappointed all at once, and drops down onto his elbows, bringing himself to eye level with Ben’s dick. It’s...a dick. He’s seen a few that aren’t his own, has found there are guys who are happy to touch him and put their mouths to work once they recognize him. They don’t ask him to return the favor often, but he has jerked off a few because he’s not a complete asshole, and in that time he’s come to the conclusion that all dicks are pretty much the same, varying size aside.

And yet his heart is thumping as hard as it was after he snorted those pills when he lowers his head and licks the head of Ben’s cock.

Weird.

“Why-”

“I’ve walked in on Allison and Luther doing this after bad missions-”

“Eww.”

“Right?” Klaus hums in agreement and drags his tongue along the side of Ben’s cock, tasing salt and skin. “So gross; I can’t picture messing around with either of them.”

Ben blinks, eyes darting down to Klaus face, up at the ceiling, and back again, before pressing a hand to his eyes and laughing. “Y-yeah. That would be disgusting.”

“Anyway, I figure they keep doing it so it must help.” Probably not as much as pills but Klaus can adapt. Ben mutters something about dopamine and endorphins and ‘Hng Klaus, wait-’ when he takes him into his mouth. He stops talking after that, just sinks back and breathes hard, an expression Klaus has never seen on him taking over his face.

Klaus tries to mimic what people have done to him, very aware that he’s being messier and louder than those people ever are as he sucks and licks, bobs his head up and down when he figures out just how much he can handle without his throat seizing up. He uses his hand on the rest, thick spit making things slick enough that he can jerk Ben fast and hard, like he himself likes. It seems to work because Ben is shaking under him, hand now over his mouth, and his legs are jerking and pressing in close around Klaus’ head.

The taste of Ben goes a little bitter and Klaus swallows it down. Ben swears and presses his heels down into the mattress as his hips jerk up. His cock slams into the back of Klaus’ throat, pushes in even as he gags. He jerks back, hacking out a cough, and gets a face of jizz for his trouble. Klaus cringes, turning away when another spurt of come shoots out, splashes against his lips and cheek.

Eww.

“oh.”  

Ben whimpers and flaps a hand. Klaus doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean, decides it can’t be that important if Ben can’t use his words, and, after wiping his face on Ben’s shorts (Ben tries to smack him away, the jerk) he slinks up to his feet and rubs at the back of his neck. Ben blinks up at him, sleepy eyed and red faced.  


“...better?”

Another blink then a shrug. Ben touches his chest, brow creasing. “I...It’s not moving?”

Klaus nods. Looks like their siblings were on to something after all. “Cool. I’m gonna go then. Raid the liquor. The usual.”

He feels Ben’s eyes following him out of the room but doesn’t think much of it, or of anything once he finds a nice bottle of whiskey to take with him outside along with a blanket and pillow from the couch.

\----

Ben is there when he wakes up, crouched sitting on the cold ground and sipping a steaming takeout cup of coffee. There’s a plate of waffles balanced on his knees. He hands it to Klaus, along with another cup of coffee. Klaus accepts it with a groan, drinks fast enough to burn his tongue, and starts to gnaw at the fluffy, still warm breakfast.

“You’re my favorite brother.” He mutters around a mouthful.

“So.” Ben says mildly. “You sucked my dick last night. Is that something we’re gonna talk about or- Klaus?”

The bite of waffle in his mouth tries to escape down his windpipe. Ben smacks him on the back obligingly while Klaus attempts to cough up all of his organs.

  


**Author's Note:**

> The disconnect Klaus and Ben feel between what they're doing and what Luther and Allison are up to amuses me. *shrugs*


End file.
